Supermarket(25)



Like always, people gave me and Bennett super-strange looks on our walk.

I never understood why. I mean, he wasn’t exactly the cutest dog, I guess that was it. Man, people can be so superficial.

We walked around, ending up at this park by my house on Bleeker Street, then we played fetch with the red rubber ball—the same one I bounced thinking of ideas to write. It was nice to just chill with Bennett. I don’t know why, but whenever we hung out I got the same feeling I did when I hung around Frank—I was definitely entertained, I’ll tell you that.

Later in the afternoon, back at my house, I decided to clean up the place. It was pretty messy, and who knew? Maybe Mia would end up coming back later that night if I was lucky.

I had a few framed pictures I had collected in the time I had been living in the apartment, along with busts and other collectables, but I’d never found the time to properly decorate the place. Down the street was this awesome store called Blast from the Past. They had all sorts of amazing memorabilia, T-shirts, and busts—anything collectable. But the thing they had that was super awesome was their poster selection. I had befriended a guy who worked there named Duncan. He was British and seemed to be of mixed race. He was definitely black, but very light-skinned. Super nerdy, but he had a cool vibe about him. I always wondered what the hell he was doing in the States, working at a place like that, but I never asked. I did, however, know he really enjoyed it.

Every time I went there he was pretty stoned. We would talk Star Wars and other fun sci-fi shit. Anyway, it was definitely my favorite place to waste my time. That and Fisher’s Vinyl Village.

I absolutely love music and vinyl. I mean, even now as I’m writing and you’re reading, there’s a record spinning next to me. Today’s twelve-inch of choice is an album called Salad Days by Mac DeMarco. He’s one of my all-time favorites.

Anyway, I spent the next few hours hanging up posters of all my favorite stuff. Futurama, Star Wars, anything Seth MacFarlane—especially The Orville. I had quite the collection. Guardians of the Galaxy, Indiana Jones, Blade Runner, Back to the Future—all that shit. I actually had a blast turning my bland writing room into an author’s sanctuary. When I finished I looked at my watch and did a double take. It was 6:25 p.m.

I had to run or I was gonna be late for our date. I gave Bennett a loving pat on the head and was out the door. My entire way there I was beaming. I couldn’t wait to see her.

By the time I got there, the sun was almost down. There was a beautiful vanilla sky, like God himself had painted it just for us. Cheesy, I know, but I must admit the vanilla sky is my favorite sky. Full of pinks and creams. It really is quite the sight. No wonder Monet created a masterpiece from it.

I was pretty out of breath when I showed up. Mia was sitting on a bench under the huge Putt-Putt sign, which was lit up: Bobby’s Mini Golf.

She looked amazing. She was wearing a sexy black slip dress and Dr. Martens boots.

“Hey there, cowboy,” she said with that perfect smile, her lips a dark red color. Swear to God, she spent all her money on Fenty Beauty and Kylie Cosmetics.

“Hey there, Jessie,” I said, gesturing Wild West pistols with my fingers.

“Who the hell is Jessie?” She spit. “Some other bitch you fuckin’ on the side?”

“No, no!” I said, panicking. “I mean Jessie from Toy Story, you know? ’Cuz Woody, he meets Jessie when—”

“I’m totally fucking with you, Flynn! Haha, Jesus, man.”

Of course she is, I thought to myself. That’s why she was so awesome, Mia. Because of shit like that.

“Oh, haha. Yeah, totally. Anyway . . . ready to get beat?” I extended my hand and we made our way inside.

We had a blast. Though, to be completely honest, she kinda sorta severely kicked my ass. I had to get a new ball twice because I kept knocking it into the water traps. The windmills really fucked me up too. But Mia just laughed at me and gave me shit for it. On the second-to-last hole, she was setting up to putt, and as smooth as ice, I stepped behind her, grabbed her golf club, putting my hands over hers, and hugged her from behind. I nearly cracked up because the move was so cheesy, but I went through with it.

“Need some help with your game?” I asked, trying to be smooth. She smelled amazing.

“Oh, wait a minute,” she said. “Um, I may be mistaken, but . . . wasn’t it I who was kicking your ass?” She giggled and gave me a big smile, leaving me weak. “You know,” she said, “if I wanted to, I could totally kick your ass from this position.”

“Uuuhhh, haha . . . what?” I said, tightening my grip on her body just slightly.

“Well, my self-defense teacher—”

“You take a self-defense class?” I asked, intrigued.

“Well, yeah. How else am I supposed to fight off all the hot guys constantly coming on to me?”

“Uh . . .”

“I’m joking, Flynn! Jeez.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, totally.”

“You’re such a nerd,” she said, chuckling. “It’s true. My defense teacher showed me how to fuck somebody up when they are constraining you from behind.”

“Okay, I’m curious. What do you do?”

“Okay, so hold me tight,” she said, grabbing my hands. The golf club fell to the ground. She placed my hands around her toned stomach. “Tighter, lover boy . . . not scared, are you?” she said, then giggled again. Her ass was at my waist.

Bobby Hall's Books